


Conversation

by GangstaCrow



Series: Talk [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Summer, another vent fic with some added drama to spice it up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GangstaCrow/pseuds/GangstaCrow
Summary: Their entire dynamic is based around unspoken communication, subtle changes in body language or usual mannerisms to be able to understand each other without saying anything. Kentarou has never been one for talking anyway. Getting snappy when people fuck up during a game or at practice, sure. Any other time he's quieter than a mouse, so he doesn't get why people keep asking him to talk about shit out loud.Or: The first step forward.





	Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> talk finale booooi. its been a while, but as always, I debated proofreading and said fuck it lmao. let me know if you find any mistakes
> 
> read the end notes if you want

The cicadas are being exceptionally loud this year. Their buzzing persists long into the night, penetrating the thickest walls and sliding under the smallest cracks in doorways or windows. Even apartments don’t seem to be safe from them despite there being relatively few trees for them to hide in. Maybe they’re arguing. Maybe they’re singing. Maybe they're talking.

Frankly, Kentarou doesn’t give a shit since all he wants them to do is shut up.

His only saving grace is that he doesn’t have to suffer with them in the hellfire outside. If Yahaba lived a couple floors lower where the sound isn’t muffled and hadn’t turned on the air conditioning, Kentarou may very well be dead. Miraculously, the weather doesn’t seem to bother Yahaba. He doesn't know how the guy can act like everything is perfectly normal when Kentarou's skin is practically melting as soon as he steps foot outside. He'd only worn a thin t-shirt and some shorts, but even that feels like too much.

Being pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on Yahaba’s bed after a mere five minutes of coming inside hadn’t helped matters.

It’s been a little over an hour since he got here, and he’d cooled down after a while, but that just meant his sweat turned cold and his legs became sticky. He shifts a knee experimentally and frowns in disgust at the sensation.

Of course Yahaba isn't paying attention. He's staring at the ceiling, details of the past week and the drama in his class falling from his lips with ease. Ayaka cheated on her boyfriend to get revenge on him since he tried to make a move on her sister. Hisashi needs the class representative to tutor him or he won't be able to participate in glee club, but the class rep is his ex girlfriend. Somebody stole all the chalk in the classroom and nobody can figure out who it was.

Kentarou, in an effort to distract himself from his sweat in a way he isn't completely sure he should be, is increasingly focused on the way Yahaba’s lips move. He’s laying on his back, same as Yahaba, but from the corner of his eyes, he can see them moving. They're impossibly fast, each word and each syllable shaping the way they bend and press together. They're smooth. He uses a lot of lip balm, definitely more than Kentarou does. He almost feels guilty about how chapped his own are in comparison. He should really remember to put chapstick on every once and awhile. He can already picture the persistent whining. It’s not good for your lips to be cracked, you could get hurt, you should take better care of yourself, blah blah blah. And of course Kentarou will go along with it even as he’s barely restrains himself from strangling Yahaba for being so damn prissy all the time.

Is it possible to hate how much you care about someone? He hopes he’s not the only hopeless bastard in the world as whipped for someone as he is for Yahaba, because if he is, then he’s reached a whole new level of pathetic previously unknown to the human race.

Speaking of pathetic, Kentarou can’t catch a break today. It’s as if every move he takes is being scrutinized under the new guidelines his brain in acting under due to his new relationship with Yahaba. One of his hands is resting under his head while the other is lying limply on his stomach. His brain decides this is a starkly important issue since at least one of them isn't holding Yahaba’s, which normally happens all the time when they’re alone. Maybe it’s the break in routine that’s doing this, yet the fact that it’s become part of their routine is enough to make his face flush. Though it’s not Kentarou’s fault that Yahaba manages to steal his attention in ways nobody else can. His presence alone makes his brain shut down. His thoughts turn to Yahaba, his sights are set on being with Yahaba, he wants to find ways to keep the calm atmosphere that comes with Yahaba, just an endless cycle of Yahaba.

It’s much harder to focus on how much of a loser you are when you’re around someone like Yahaba. The only exception to that would be now. Kentarou hasn’t been listening to a word Yahaba’s been saying for the past ten minutes because he’s been distracted… by Yahaba.

Even now that he’s aware he hasn’t been paying attention, Kentarou still isn’t listening. He can hear the words leaving Yahaba’s mouth but he doesn’t register what they are or what they mean. When they’re in Yahaba’s house, his voice is actually quite calming. It reminds him of wind chimes in the summer, eating tangerines in the winter, or walking through the park in the spring. His parents are always around when he comes over and they ask them to keep the door open to allow the air to circulate through the apartment. They have to be quiet since his parents are working, and Kentarou is introduced to an entirely new Yahaba persona.

A soft spoken Yahaba. A calm Yahaba. A Yahaba that knows they don’t need to- and most likely can’t- scream at one another to get their point across. He doesn’t yell at him or nag him as often, and when he does, it doesn’t have much force put into it.

“Hello? Hellooo? Dude, are you listening?”

 _Oh._ “No.”

Yahaba sighs, and even though they aren’t facing each other, he still smells the barest hints of mint from the iced tea they had earlier. Speaking of, he should make some when he goes home. It was pretty good.

A pillow slams into his face, and he sits up so fast he almost falls over the side of the bed at the pins and needles feeling in his left arm. “What the-”

Yahaba’s sitting up too, lips curved into a pout while his eyes shine with amusement. “When I said make yourself at home, I didn’t expect you to completely drift off when we were in the middle of a conversation.” He’s wearing one of Kentarou’s old navy sweatshirts, and he feels his face grow impossibly warmer seeing him wear it.

Kentarou crosses his legs as he tries to massage his arm in order to get the blood flowing back into it. “It’s not like it was important.” He barely dodges the other pillow that gets thrown his way. “What? I’m not lying.”

“I know, but you didn’t have to say it! You’re so rude!”

“You say that every time you get mad at me.”

“It bears repetition.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

The short laugh he gets in response makes him curve the corner of his lips into a smile. He watches as Yahaba stands up to stretch and wants to smack himself for the way his eyes are drawn to the skin peeking out beneath his sweatshirt for half a second. The movement wakes up Poncho, jolting up like he’s possessed. Poor little guy. After getting over the initial shock he realizes that everyone’s up, so obviously they must want to play with him. He starts barking and jumping around Yahaba’s legs to get his attention. Kentarou refuses to show his disappointment upon being completely ignored by his son.

Yahaba sits back down on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh to get Poncho to jump up. Kentarou has to resist shouting chants of encouragement as Poncho’s tiny legs try desperately to pull himself up. When he does, he takes notice of Kentarou sitting behind Yahaba, and to his utter delight watches as he excitedly runs over to sit in his lap. His cheeky grin quickly turns to one of pure joy as he scratches the dog behind the ear. He still remembers the day he found the little guy in the abandoned lot and the way Yahaba had tried to convince him to give him away. They’d argued and walked around town and had actually acted like normal teammates for once.

But then the cat… that fucking cat. He doesn't know why it hated Yahaba as much as it did, but it did, and he'll never forget the pissed off aura it emanated whenever Yahaba drifted into its eyesight.

When Kentarou flicks his gaze up, he sees Yahaba staring at him. His expression isn’t anything good or bad. It’s neutral, though he doesn’t miss the hint of fondness in his eyes. They’re mixed with thousands of emotions waiting to be expressed at a moments notice. He’s been doing this a lot lately and Kentarou, for the life of him, cannot figure out why. It only happens when he’s happy or smiling. Maybe his face is weird when he smiles. Maybe he makes those stupid happy sounds that Watari makes sometimes when he sees a girl acting overly cutesy pass by the gym. He hopes it isn’t either of those. He’s enough of a loser without having that shit tacked onto his personality.

He clears his throat in the hopes that it’ll help calm his nerves. It only serves in exciting Poncho and making himself that much more nervous. “You okay? You’re kinda staring-”

“Date.”

There’s no way he can make himself sound anything but confused. “What?”

“Let’s go on a date after practice next Thursday. There’s this udon shop I’ve been wanting to try.”

He thinks he stops breathing. Poncho seems to realize the change that’s occurring and his tail abruptly stops wagging. “No thanks.”

Yahaba whines, but it doesn’t make a difference to Kentarou. He’s already given his answer. “C’mon, we haven’t been on a real date in two weeks. It’ll be fun!”

Being blunt hadn’t worked. Time to try a different approach. “I don’t have money.”

Yahaba isn’t fazed. “I’ll pay this time.”

 _Tch. Fucker._ “Don’t.”

Yahaba frowns. Poncho hops back onto the floor, scampering out the door of the bedroom when he hears the door to Yahaba’s father’s office open down the hall. “Stop the tough guy act, it’s one date. Pay for the next one and we’ll be even.”

Kentarou feels his jaw tense. Normally Yahaba would be able to tell when he’s pushing it, so he’s either ignoring it or he isn’t paying attention. He tries to hone in on the faint jingling of Poncho’s tags to calm himself back down, but it has the opposite effect as he listens to the noise approach and pass the door to Yahaba’s room, most likely to give the dog his dinner. His brain pushes him towards what going on a date with Yahaba would be like, and he immediately dives back into defense mode while his body goes into panic mode. _Fuck that._ “I don’t-”

Yahaba frowns. He looks like he wants to click his teeth, like Kentarou is the one being difficult in this situation. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m gonna be mad. Who cares who pays and who doesn’t? One date isn’t a big deal-”

That’s what does it. That’s what pushes Kentarou over the edge and makes him upset. Upset rather than sad or angry because of the overall collection of negative emotions that revolve around hurt and scared. He knows he’s acting irrational and selfish. He is. And he’s a despicable human being for doing so. But God forbid Kentarou be selfish for wanting someone to finally be able to understand him, God forbid he feel upset that someone he trusts isn’t paying attention to what matters, God forbid Kentarou’s inside shrivel up and refuse to let him breathe since he’s supposed to have someone that understands him better than anyone else that doesn’t see what he needs to.  

Despite how upset he is, Kentarou does make the effort not to yell, though it ends up turning the words that leave his mouth into a harsh snarl. “To you Yahaba. It isn’t a big deal to you _._ ”

He doesn’t miss the way Yahaba’s eyes turn sharp and he opens his mouth to give a biting retort, yet he finally gives Kentarou a once over for the first time during this entire minute-long exchange. Then he sees it. If Kentarou’s brain takes the faintest amount of satisfaction in seeing Yahaba’s face morph into that of guilt, it’s drowned out by Kentarou’s overall fear at being backed into a corner like this.

Because, after a few short months of them officially dating, Yahaba finally seems to get it. The two of them being together isn’t an issue to him, but he finally seems to have clued into that fact that this isn’t the case for everyone.

When they went out for the first time on a real date, hands clasped together, he could feel it everywhere they went. The disgust. The outrage. The revulsion, as if the two of them had something contagious that they had to avoid at all costs. The eyes followed him everywhere that day. At the cafe they stopped in for lunch. At the arcade they spent hours in. At the park they passed through on their way home. Every face had that expression permanently etched onto it, and he felt the weight of a million eyes glaring at him from every direction. His shoulders had tensed up, he sweat more, and he could barely manage to lift his eyes from the pavement as they walked, wishing he could dissipate into nothingness so nobody could look at him ever again.

Realistically, the people they passed that day probably hadn’t given a shit who they were or what they were doing, but that isn’t enough for Kentarou’s brain. The logistical part of his mind is always trumped by the emotional part. He doesn’t _know_ that. He doesn’t know for sure that they weren’t staring at him or judging him or following him or telling the entire world that he’s-

He's…

Different.

Yeah. He's different.

Because while the world is getting more tolerant, while the West is having parades with people waving around little rainbow flags, while people say they’re fine with it over here, he knows how they would treat him. Everyone's fine with it as long as it doesn't directly affect them, and the minute it does, they'll treat him like a plague victim. Who he is would be branded across his forehead for the rest of his life, constantly held over him wherever he went, no matter the purpose. Walking down the street. Shopping for groceries in the store. Going to college, if he even gets in. Renting an apartment. Everywhere he goes, people would know and talk about him like he’s a fucking circus attraction instead of a human being.

He's getting a little dizzy and his head is pounding. Probably from the weather. He’ll feel better when he calms down. Considering that he has to both try to worm himself out of this situation while also trying to keep the emotional part of his brain from boiling over, this is easier said than done.

He could turn this into anger. That might help. He could be pissed off and stew for a day or two. Sure, his relationship and practice might take a hit, but isn't this the kind of thing Yahaba normally preaches to him? Take better care of yourself? He could try doing that.

The bed dips down as Yahaba moves to sit in front of him. Legs crossed and hands folded together, he’s trying to meet Kentarou’s eye. Unfortunately for him, Kentarou’s an expert at avoiding unwanted eye contact. He gives up rather quickly, but he’s far from done. “Have you always felt like that?”

The lightswitch next to the door suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world.

Yahaba exhales deeply. “You should’ve told me.”

“I thought you knew already.” He can’t help it. He sounds like a jackass, and he knows he does. But this is only the second time the subject of going on a date has been brought up, so he assumed Yahaba was just trying to push him out of his comfort zone. He supposes he deserves this for believing Yahaba was capable of the impossible, and he feels shame rise in him. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it, I pushed too much. You still should’ve told me directly though. I know I’m good at reading people, but nobody's that good.”

“I know.”

“I’m being serious Kentarou. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I said I know.”

“Do you? Everytime I say not to hold it in, you always do. You never talk to me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know it's not, but I’m asking you to try. I can’t understand everything about you if you keep hiding it away.”

“Okay.” The frown Yahaba sends his way lets him know they both know he doesn't really mean it.

And he doesn't.

Personally, Kentarou doesn't think they need to talk about this. He doesn't want to. Saying as much as he has was more than enough to get Yahaba on board, and now that he gets it, there's nothing to discuss. Their entire dynamic is based around unspoken communication, subtle changes in body language or usual mannerisms to be able to understand each other without saying anything. Kentarou has never been one for talking anyway. Getting snappy when people fuck up during a game or at practice, sure. Any other time he's quieter than a mouse, so he doesn't get why people keep asking him to talk about shit out loud. Being moody and quiet isn't just part of who he is, it's part of being a teenager in general. He doesn't talk about his feelings, he gets nervous around people he likes, he’s hyperware of the people around him. These are normal, run of the mill occurrences that happen to every single teenager around the globe. He kept hoping that Yahaba would believe him if he kept repeatedly saying he was fine, but apparently not.

He just keeps pushing. Yahaba refuses to let things like this go, and in any other situation he may have kissed him for his tenacity, but this kind of intrusiveness-

No. Not intrusive. That's too far. He's not unwanted. Kentarou doesn't completely dislike his concern. But…

_I don't even know anymore._

He honestly doesn't. On one hand his brain is telling him he doesn't think his worry is necessary, but some part of himself likes to feel cared about. Probably his heart or something. That dick. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand his conflicting feelings or why Yahaba cares so much about this when nobody else does or why he doesn't take the hint and let him fester in a pit of self loathing for as long as it takes for this stupid vault in his head to empty on its own in due time.

The faint sound of the television in the living room and the ticking of Yahaba’s clock keep him grounded. Yahaba’s stupid mole is peeking out from beneath the collar of the sweatshirt, and his brain is on some shit again because it’s screaming at him to pull it down further until it’s completely exposed so he can poke it. It’s amazing how easy it is for his brain to allow all these insignificant things distract him from anything Kentarou has deemed unnecessary. That’s probably a talent in its own right. Perhaps it’s a form of self preservation- saving Kentarou from the drama around him by going into an instinctual defense mode. In the form of Yahaba. Which is a bit counterintuitive considering Yahaba’s the one who most often makes him react this way.

This is all pure speculation on his part though. He’s just using random shit he’s seen in medical documentaries to try to piece together why everything around him is so emotionally and physically draining all of a sudden and why his brain is being the asshole it is. The brain will try to find any way it can to avoid difficult experiences before they manifest if said experiences are inevitable.

Though now that he’s thinking about it in detail, it’s just a glorified coward factor installed in his head. If things get tough, it’ll find a way to avoid it. He left the team because it got too hard, he doesn’t talk about himself because it makes him sad, he only shows his real emotions when he’s alone because… why? He obviously has the answer, but why is that the answer?

_Because you're weak._

That's probably it. His brain is pretty much a pussy. And despite how much he wants to prove himself wrong, to fight against that instinct, he can’t.

Kentarou wants to leave.

Yahaba notices.

A spiteful corner deep within his head utters the phrase _for once_ , and suddenly Kentarou doesn’t think he deserves to be here anymore. He’s a complete asshole with no redeeming qualities that shouldn’t be forcing someone like Yahaba to be around him.

He’s in the process of coming up with a bullshit excuse to give about why he has to leave when Yahaba gets that look. The stupid stubborn hero look that makes him bring up shit they’ve moved passed, makes him insist on telling Kentarou to do things that he thinks will help him no matter how many times Kentarou ignores him. “You don’t want us to be seen together?”

It’s been asked and answered already. Kentarou doesn’t say anything.

Yahaba sighs. Understanding, though that doesn’t hide the pain. It yanks on Kentarou’s heartstrings. “Thought so.”

Kentarou starts to say something before he decides against it. Because after all is said and done, Yahaba isn’t wrong. Kentarou doesn’t want to be seen in public with Yahaba. He doesn’t want to shoulder the burden of being different in society. He doesn’t want people to see him walking hand-in-hand with Yahaba in a park, doesn’t want to deal with what accompanies going outside together whether it’s for a date or not. He doesn’t want them to have to suffer through obnoxiously fake smiles and problematic questions and staring and people that don’t bother to hide their disgust just for being themselves. He doesn’t want to worry about lashing out at Yahaba due to his anxiety being amplified by the constant surveillance he’s under from the eyes of strangers. Yahaba deserves better than that. He doesn’t want people to talk about them everywhere they go, judgements following every miniscule action they take. Yet the root of the problem, the entire driving force behind Kentarou not wanting people to see them-

“You haven’t told them yet, have you?”

There it is. “No.”

“Ah... I get it now. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Kentarou hasn’t them, and he doesn’t think he ever will. Being seen in public with Yahaba is a surefire way of letting them know in the worst way possible- through rumors and gossip.

Because no matter how much Kentarou wants this to work, no matter how much he wants them to be together and how much he cares about Yahaba, he’s going to do what they want him to. He loves them too much to do otherwise. While he wouldn't actually marry a women if they said they wanted him to, he wouldn’t go around dating any guys either. He’s already aware of how it’ll go when he tells them, too. They’ll say they support him. They won't let their emotions get the better of them while they sit in the living room with him, saying some bullshit they probably read on the internet somewhere. But he knows what they’ll think of him. He’ll be able see it in the sadness and disappointment in his their eyes, in the uncomfortably stiff actions they take from that point on.

They'll be ashamed and confused but they won't have the balls to say it, because they say it's okay for other people's children, but no their own.

So he’s scared shitless of his new little sister coming along, when they start to gradually cut him out of their life with the excuse of being busy with the baby. Can’t visit him at school because of the baby. Now’s not a good time for him to come over, the baby’s sick. They can’t talk to him about paying for school in person or over the phone, they’ll just go ahead and send it over.

It happened to his oldest sister as he got older and his attitude got harder to handle. For Kyoko, he was the reason they gave to stop caring.

Aside from having a relatively empty house since their siblings have all moved out, why would his situation be any different when he's compared to someone like her?

Why would his be better than a sister who graduated at the top of her class as president of the art club when Kentarou is so shit at volleyball he lost the last game of his senpai’s high school career? Why would it be better for him when he's a failure of a son and she's a shining example of a daughter? There is nothing to justify why Kentarou would be treated with any more respect when he’s not even half the person his sister is. If they pushed away someone as amazing as her, what would they do to someone like him?

And it’s not like anybody ever mentions it either. He’s overheard tidbits from his siblings when they forget he’s around, but nobody dares voice her name or what happened or anything surrounding the situation at all. If they’d actually told him the whole story, maybe he wouldn’t have to piece together why his sister hasn’t come home in five years. No, all he can do is remain unsure of whether the picture he’s painted in his head is what it’s supposed to look like or if he’s completely off the mark. He supposes that’s where he gets his silence from.

Yet he’s still going to choose them over Yahaba. Despite how they ignore his existence, how they overlook even the most basic aspects of his personality and shy away from his obvious discomfort, they're still...

They're family. He can't just leave them. He loves them. So he has to choose them over Yahaba. What kind of person would he be if he didn't?

_You’d be you. You’d be a disgrace. You’d be weak._

He doesn’t disagree.

Yahaba shifts impossibly closer, and Kentarou almost panics when he albut straddles his lap. He finally forces himself to look Yahaba in the eye, and though the extended eye contact makes him extremely self conscious for no good reason, he actually kind of likes it. He likes how close they are. It sounds creepy and weird, but sometimes when they touch, Kentarou feels like he can forget where one of them ends and the other begins. They're so in sync, so good together that it helps and hurts him because he doesn't want to lose this but he knows he's going to ruin it, kind of like how he is now since Yahaba keeps asking him to talk when Kentarou knows he can't and he also doesn’t want to in the first place-

“Hey- dude! You need to breathe!”

Does he really though? It seems like a lot of these problems would go away if he stopped.

“I don't know what's going on, but you need to calm down.”

He’s calm. He’s totally calm. He just forgot to breathe for a minute. Kentarou tries to match his breathing with Yahaba's to help cool his head before he does something else to embarrass himself.

Yahaba’s staring, but his gaze isn’t in focus. His expression is pensive while he’s off in his own world. That’s better than Kentarou. He wishes he would will himself to dissociate so he could watch everything that’s happening from a spectator standpoint rather than be part of this himself. Unfortunately, Kentarou can’t do that, and is 100% aware that this is his life. He’s got ninety nine upper-middle class teenager problems and the fact that they're tearing apart his very being is definitely one.

The shifting of weight on the bed is something new though, and he watches as Yahaba flops on his back. His head is an inch away from falling off the head of the bed but Kentarou doesn’t think he cares he’s close to falling. He’s groaning and he nearly kicks Kentarou in the head in his haste to stretch out. “Forget what I said earlier, I’m not sorry!”

“Wha-”

“I can’t just pretend I don’t care and drop it! I’m too worried!”

What else is there to know? He already put everything together. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Yahaba would look more determined if his head weren’t sinking into his pillows. Are they memory foam? They seem like it. “What’s happening? What’s happening is we’re gonna deal with this instead of moving past it!”

That doesn’t seem very good. “I’d prefer not to.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit.”

Honestly, can this guy go one day without managing to be as extra as possible? This isn’t some random chat they’re having as they leave practice, this is serious, and as such, Kentarou seriously wants to drop it. “Can you stop being a dick for once-”

“Nope. If being a dick is what’s going to help you, then that’s what I’ll be.”

Kentarou resists the urge to grind his teeth or chew on his lips. He hates how this has turned around to bite him in the ass. He came here to relax, maybe make out a little bit. They had a brief little spat that seemed to move along so they could get back to that, but here’s Yahaba, trying to get him to talk about shit.

Talking. Since when have they ever talked about anything like this before? And it’s not like it’s a two way street either, it’s always Yahaba trying to weasel shit out of Kentarou, never the other way around. Why? Because Kentarou isn’t all that pressed to get Yahaba to talk about stuff if he knows he’s evading it for a reason. He lets him do it in his own time. So why can’t Yahaba do the same to him? Why does he keep trying to pull every little thing out of Kentarou’s head when these problems aren’t really problems? How many times does he have to say he’s fine and that these things aren’t that important before Yahaba believes him?

Besides, it’s not like this is something that can be changed. Yahaba can’t wave around a magic wand and turn everyone’s homophobe dials to zero. “You do realize we live in Japan right?”

Yahaba frowns. “Obviously.”

“Oh, so you _do_ know you can’t just go around while liking dicks without people talking and staring?”

Yahaba nods. “Remind me again who’s doing the talking and staring.

Random, but okay. “Usually people in their forties and older I guess? Why does it matter-”

Yahaba kicks him in the shin. “It matters because those people are gonna die out soon and their opinion shouldn't fucking matter.”

While Yahaba swearing would normally crack him up, Kentarou’s more focused on hiding his shaking hands and ignoring the cold sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Ignoring the opinion of strangers is a pretty easy conclusion to come to in theory, but when you’ve been raised to respect the your elders since you were a child, it becomes less so, especially when that opinion could make or break his entire future. While Kentarou doesn’t treat anyone above a base degree of respect unless they earn it, invalidating their entire outlook on him is impossible. He can’t even get over how people his own age look at him, how does Yahaba expect him to do the same for people whose opinion of him are so much more impactful on his life? People that can crush all his dreams without any sort of remorse?

His brain is moving too fast. He can’t keep up with anything anymore. Water would help him cool down. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is Ken.”

“It’s fucking not.”

Yahaba sighs and pulls on the bottom of Kentarou’s shirt to get him to play along for once. Kentarou isn't in the mood for it. “This is about your parents.”

Kentarou doesn’t deny it.

Yahaba exhales deeply. His hand drops from the edge of Kentarou’s shirt and his brain craves the contact again. “Have you talked to them about it at all?”

What kind of question is that? “No. Unsurprisingly, the subject of being attracted to men doesn’t come up when we’re eating gyoza.”

“Don’t be an ass. I’m trying to help you.”

“Unless you suddenly become a pop idol that the public is gonna cream their pants over-”

“Gross.”

“-I don’t think stating your opinion is gonna do anything groundbreaking.”

“Well it’s a start at least.” Kentarou scoffs, but Yahaba isn’t deterred. “Hear me out. Have you sat down and had a real conversation with them about this?”

“No.” That sounded hostile. He hadn’t even known his teeth were gritted.

Yahaba isn’t mad though. He’s being calm, patient. “Then how do you know they wouldn’t like you?”

He can’t say it. “Because.”

“Because?”

“...”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better. Just closes one of the only means of escape he may have had. “I know.”

“Okay.”

“...”

“So how do you know?”

He doesn’t want to say it.

“...”

He does it anyway. “Because they did the same thing to my sister.” Kentarou’s skin feels dirty as soon as he’s forced the words out. He doesn’t want to say any of this out loud- he’s never had to before. He gets the feeling someone is watching him, watching him betray his family's privacy and trust by voicing their personal problems.

He wishes he’d never come here today. Wishes he’d gone straight home after practice.

“Hiyori?”

“Kyoko. They don’t even talk to her anymore.”

Yahaba’s expression is strange and Kentarou wants to bolt. He bears an uncanny resemblance to their former captain whenever he gets like this, which is extremely unnerving when it comes to matters of Kentarou’s personal life. “This might just be wishful thinking, but you should consider talking to them. This could all be a misunderstanding.”

Kentarou snorts. “Wow. Never thought of that.”

“I know it sounds obvious, but I really think you should.”

“No way. Why don’t you ask them about it since you’re so interested.”

“Okay.”

What. “What?”

Yahaba sits up, nearly kicking Kentarou in the jaw as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t jump up and start moving around trying to get ready to go yet, he’s just… sitting there. Before Kentarou can ask if he’s alright, Yahaba opens his mouth to talk. “I can't-” He closes it again. He’s trying to figure out to say what he needs to, and if he were a pinch less sane, Kentarou would use this opportunity to get the hell out. “I can’t stop worrying about you. You never listen when I tell you to take better care of yourself, that you shouldn’t be holding all that shit in your head. And I know you still haven’t said anything about the Spring High to anyone.” His eyes dart over to Kentarou, and once again, all he can feel in response is shame. “I’m tired of watching you lock all of this up. I see how it hurts you, even if you deny it or don’t realize it. If I don’t make you deal with this now, you never will.”

He’s right. He’s right but that doesn’t make him feel any better about this. He knows he should take the helping hand that’s been offered to him and start taking steps forward but the ball-and-chain attached to his ankles are too strong for someone like him to handle. Even as he tries to pull off an irritated scowl to mask his emotions, he’s positive Yahaba can see exactly what he’s feeling, clear as day.

The fear. The anxiety. The everything _._ His brain is trying to save him by scheming to get sympathy, some kind of mercy by showcasing every emotion he’s been hiding.

And Yahaba gets it. He always gets it. He doesn’t know why he’d doubted it, because he always does, and that serves to make him feel ten times worse. He doesn’t stop looking at Kentarou, who’s beginning to think this whole staring at your boyfriend thing isn’t just some trend from manga or anime. It’s all that seems to happen between them lately. Right now, between the pushing and pulling and whining and the distant sound of the tv in the living room, they’re the only two people who exist in the world. Eyes searching for answers to questions, justifications, explanations, trust, anything to keep them here, together, for at least one more minute. And Kentarou is trying. He really is. He’s just not used to this. He’s not ready and he doesn’t know when he will be, but he knows that it isn’t now.

Those eyes though... they help. Their warmth and softness are reminiscent of a bonfire. They’re familiar in an unfamiliar way, like he’s been with them for years even though he only started seeing them for what they actually are three weeks ago.

Yahaba turns his gaze downward, locking on to Kentarou’s hands, which have been folded into his lap throughout this whole exchange to hide their shakiness, but Yahaba reaches over to pull them out. The cold from Kentarou’s hands are a stark contrast from Yahaba’s. No wonder Watari calls him his designated heater.

Yahaba laces their fingers together. Against the resistance and the pulling that accompanies the two of them being together, they’re a perfect fit. The tense excitement drops from Kentarou's shoulders as Yahaba's grip on his hands tighten. It doesn’t hurt. Or maybe it does and he doesn’t care. “I’m gonna be right there with you. You don’t have to be scared.”

The back of Kentarou’s neck burns. “I’m not scared.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’re fuckin’ weird.”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, okay? I got it.”

The smile he gets in response should be outlawed. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“...Okay.”

“Are you ready to do this? Together?”

No. Obviously not. But that doesn’t matter- at the end of the day, Kentarou can do this with the excuse that it isn’t for himself. It’s for Yahaba, who likes to swim against the current no matter how strong it may be.

He ignores the screams of protest stemming from the panicked emotional section of his brain, shoving his entire body against its door to keep it closed for the rest of the night.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Yahaba’s still there.

* * *

The road to Kentarou’s house is much longer than he remembers it to be. Normally, it only lasts about fifteen minutes or so, but it feels as though it’s taking hours. June can hardly be considered the middle of summer, but the heat and humidity might as well make it so. He can already feel the sweat forming on his forehead as he’s blindly goes through the motions on his usual path home, walking side-by-side with Yahaba who refuses to let go of his hand. They’re clammy and wet, though whether that’s from the heat or himself isn’t clear. His grip on Yahaba’s hand is painfully tight, though he doesn't receive any complaints, just a squeeze back.

Every step is filled with dread and it multiples the time this relatively short walk takes by a thousand. His legs wants walk to bolt in the opposite direction, but here’s Yahaba acting as an anchor to keep him moving. Are his legs trembling? They feel like they are. Each step forward is as unsteady and anxious as he currently feels. The pavement beneath his feet feels cracked and jagged.

It reminds him of his first ever official volleyball game, his nerves working in tandem with his attitude and his short temper to create one of the most nerve wracking experiences of his life. People from his school chanting his name whenever he scored point even though he had no idea who they were, the pressure to win borderline crushing his windpipe. The entire experience was both exhilarating and somewhat traumatizing if he’s being honest.

Kind of like now. Traumatic in that he doesn’t want to do this, especially not when he hasn't had time to prepare for it. All this emotion in one day is a too much to deal with at once. Exhilarating because Yahaba’s going to be there, helping in ways he isn’t aware of himself, but he knows he’ll feel better than he would on his own. Axious. Trapped. Angry. A whole bunch of other shit.

They reach the Lawson at the corner of the intersection leading to his house, and the a pit opens up deep in his stomach. They’re close. They’re almost there.

Yahaba gives him a look. “No.”

“I didn’t even do anything.”

“Don’t give me that. You know as well as I do that you were going to run in there and stuff chicken in your face to avoid going home.”

It’s a good cover, so Kentarou doesn’t say anything in favor of tugging on Yahaba’s hand as they continue walking down the street. It doesn’t do much though since his hands are trembling and his feet are dragging against the ground. Yahaba squeezes his hand again to try to help soothe his conscience, and Kentarou responds with more force than is necessary. When he sees the gate to his house, every part of his body goes into a frenzy.

The house is a mess, papers scattered all over the floor and couch and dining room as his mother transitions into working from home. His room is a mess since he was in a rush to find his practice clothes. His siblings may not be there because of the weather, but he knows for damn sure that his parents are. They’re going to ask about Yahaba, and Kentarou has never been a good liar when it comes to his family.

Kentarou has never felt so afraid stepping into his own home. It’s like he's taking a gamble on his life, and his body's responding if that were the case as well. He ignores Yahaba's gaping and shakily leads him forward. His steps are sluggish, worn down with fear and worry at having put himself in this position just for himself to be happy.

Up until this point, he’d have preferred to have allowed himself to be alone forever than pit himself against everything he's so expertly been able to avoid.

He lets go of Yahaba's hand, ignoring the confused hum he receives as he opens the door.

He closes his eyes and hopes, just for a second, that they won't be here.

When he opens them, he sees his mother's flats and his father's loafers at the entryway. Great. _Fuck you universe._

Completely stepping inside, he briefly holds the door open for Yahaba before allowing it to slam shut. They toe off their shoes as Kentarou glances up. From his position he can't see much of the stairs, but he can at least see his mother's feet. Good. She's busy, so they won't be able to interact at all.

Kentarou winces when he feels Yahaba elbow him in the side. “The fuck’s your problem.”

Yahaba frowns, like it's his fault for getting hit. “Don't get pissy with me when you're the one taking up most of the space here.”

“It's my house.”

“And I'm the guest. You're not a very good host.”

“Then leave.”

The movement upstairs has stopped. She heard them. She heard them and she's coming. He considers locking the door but ultimately decides against it in case they need to leave. He can feel her eyes even though he can't bring himself to look at them. They're familiar. Homely. Almost as though it's his own gaze, as though they're his own eyes staring at him.

It makes him want to vomit.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, he can't make direct contact with her. He has to look at the space between her eyes, but he can still see how her gaze lingers on Yahaba when it passes over him. She's calm. Soft. He's never seen a more terrifying sight in his life. Her expression and tone are neutral enough, perhaps even cordial to an outsider like Yahaba. “I didn't know you bringing someone over. If I'd known, I'd have planned to make a bigger meal.”

_She knows._

Yahaba doesn't seem to get it. Or maybe he does but isn't as stupid as he is and knows how to hide shit like this. He's got on that ridiculously happy smile, so wide and outwardly kind it's almost disgusting. Almost. He really wishes his heart would take that last step instead of doing whatever the hell it just did. Yahaba reaches out a hand for his mother to shake, and Kentarou wonders if she’ll be able to feel his sweat on it. “Sorry for the intrusion. We were just going to play games for a while before I head back home.”

Her gaze flicks to him. His hands are sweaty, but he can't wipe them on anything. She doesn't say anything about it as she addresses Yahaba. “You should stay for dinner. We'd be more than happy to have you.”

Yahaba’s smile widens as if he doesn't see Kentarou slowly dying next to him. “I'd love to as long as I'm not being a bother.” He says that as if he hadn't already planned on staying, which Kentarou would find laughable if his brain weren't malfunctioning to the point where the word is replaced with charming.

She's giving him the side eye, confusion laced with a command, so he does as he's supposed to and locks the door behind him while moving their shoes to the side. He can feel her staring at him. It feels like the one she gives his brother's when they've been caught doing something wrong, but there's something different about this one that he can't quite place. Either way, he knows when he's done for. He isn't a complete idiot.

His mother returns her attention to Yahaba, small smile as she motions to the stairs. “You two can stay in Kentarou's room, but try not to make too much noise. His father is working.” He prepares to sprint to the safety of his hobbit hole when she halts his movement when the flick of her eyes. “Take a right when you get to the top, it's across from the bathroom at the end of the hall. I need some help in the kitchen for a minute, so bare with me.”

Yahaba hesitates, the edges of his polite smile dropping a couple millimeters. He glances at Kentarou, who can feel his mother's eyes, and he has no choice but to nod his head to tell him it's alright. His body language clearly says he wants to stay, but he relents and sends a less than sincere smile to his mother as he stiffly eases his feet into the slippers Kentarou hands him. She doesn't notice. “Of course.”

He makes eye contact with Yahaba whose head is turned over his shoulder as he heads upstairs. Worry drips from his expression but he keeps going anyway. Kentarou can't help feeling slightly glad that Yahaba won't have to witness him make an ass of himself.

And just like that, Kentarou is alone. No safety net to fall back on when this goes downhill. Nobody behind him to remind him to breath.

“Come help me.”

He shoves his feet into his own slippers and trudges after her, body tense as he watches her wash her hands in the sink. The silence between the is almost palpable. Tension and awkwardness wraps around his throat to strangle him. His arms are crossed to tightly his veins feel ready to burst.

His mother opens the fridge when she decides to be the first to speak, voice slightly muffled from the faint whirring. “How long?”

A loaded question. Kentarou chooses the safest answer he can think of. “We've known each other about two years. Since the beginning of high school.”

This isn't what she meant. It's blatantly obvious, and she jumps on it. “Is that how long you've been-”

“We've been what?” His throat is really tight. Is this normal? It doesn't feel like it is. Doesn't seem all that healthy, there isn't much air getting through. His response was way too defensive, and she notices. How could she not?

She moves some things around before pulling out some fruit. Pears. Nectarines. Like this is just another night during summer break. When she pulls out a cutting board and reaches for a knife, Kentarou flinches involuntarily. He wants to beat himself for it.

She changes. She looks… sad.

“You look just like her. I always thought it was a bit strange since you're so far apart, but I never questioned it. More to love I suppose.”

_Is it really love if you don't speak to the other person? If you can't even say her name?_

These doubts amplify his hatred for himself. He wants to bang his head against the wall.

She rinses off each fruit as they play the waiting game. Who will speak first? Who will figure out how to say what needs to be said without chasing the other away? In most cases, neither of them. Not him. Not her. But they don't have a choice now. Reality is here, sitting upstairs, probably sneaking his way back down to eavesdrop in the hallway or at the bottom of the stairs.

She takes the lead. Typical. She is the adult after all. “Why didn't you tell us?”

What kind of question is that? Why does she sound so disappointed? “Thought you already knew.”

She isn't satisfied. “I need to hear it from you.”

She does. And he needs to be the one to tell her. “Because of Kyoko.”

Each time the knife glides through a pear or a nectarine, he feels sick. But she doesn't say anything. She's working quietly, though there's no mistaking the air between them. She'll start talking again soon.

He could probably sneak upstairs now. She isn't paying attention to him. He glances at the doorway behind him to work up his nerve when she opens her mouth again. “Your father and I… we weren't the best parents out there when I came to this.” Her movements with the knife slow with every word that leaves her mouth. For some reason, it doesn't make him feel any better. “She told us the same day she was moving to be closer to university, she just dropped the bomb and left. We never had the chance to talk things out before she took off. I'm not excusing what we did, but it would've helped. To hear it from her I mean.”

The air is thickening. It's making him uncomfortable. He's never been good at comforting people, he doesn't want to be put in a position where he has to do so for someone else and himself.

“We didn't know anything when we first started out. The only thing that really qualified us to be parents was having a kid. We never had to deal with this before, and having her up and leave as soon as she said it… it sucked, for lack of a better word.”

Kentarou can hear the faint creaking of the stairs. Probably Yahaba trying to eavesdrop. _Idiot._

She's stopped moving all together at this point. He wonders how long she's waited to let all this out. How long she's needed this.

Is this what he looks like to Yahaba? _I doubt it. I'm fine._ He's starting to believe it less and less the longer his mother keeps talking.

It smells sweet and salty in here. Pears and tears. He touches his own face to check if it's him, though he finds he wouldn't mind if it was. His mother’s voice wavers. “It was rough. Trying to sort out our own feelings got in the way of hers, so that didn't help anything. She changed her number so we couldn't talk to her about it. Not that we could bring ourselves to even if we did. We were too ashamed. What kind of parents are so out of touch that they can't understand their own children's lives?” She laughs. Dry, humorless. Sad. “Your father was the one who came around first. He got tired of all the suffering and said everything he thought in the past was moot since our kid was involved.”

“What about you?” He doesn't mean to interrupt, but she doesn't mind. She goes on like nothing happened.

She turns on the faucet, though whether it's to wash her hands, her face, or hide her crying, he isn't sure. “You know me. Stubborn as a rock. It took me a little while, and my mother's attitude made it worse. I guess that's where I got it from.”

Yahaba's getting restless. Ever the drama queen, trying to scoot further down the stairs when he thinks they can't hear him making them creak.

He doesn't think having someone bear witness to his family's dirty laundry could get anymore mortifying until she keeps going. “But then, when you got into middle school, I saw it. You two really are the same. Same personality. Same drive. Same everything.”

Looking past the fact that his mother basically knew he was a raging disaster before he did, Kentarou registers his shoulders becoming significantly lighter and the ever present crease between his eyes smooths out. “So why hasn't she been around?”

_Does she hate me? Did I do something wrong?_

She hasn't spoken to him since she left. They were the closest out of all of their siblings and she hasn't called in five years. It has to be his fault. He can't think of any other reasonable explanation.

He pretends not to notice his mother dabbing her face with a paper towel. “She still thinks I don't want to see her. I said some terrible things the last time I saw her that I never apologized for.”

He can only imagine what could've been bad enough to drive away the strongest person he's ever met, but he'd prefer not to know the specifics if he's being completely honest. He does take a hint of satisfaction in knowing her leaving had nothing to do with him.

His mother starts to move again. Firm. Determined. A bit comical given all she's doing is putting cut up fruit into a bowl. “But I want to prove that I've changed. My family matters more than whatever I thought in the past, and I want you and her to be able to love whoever you want as long as I don't lose you.”

The redness from his neck has definitely spread to the rest of him and encased his entire face. “That was so corny.”

“Shut up. I meant what I said.”

Honestly? He has nothing left to say. He isn't sure if there's anything else they need to.

His brain is fucking fried. Things that used to confuse him are beginning to make sense, he's happy and sad and relieved all at once, he wants to spit out all the useless shit he's been keeping inside while his body craves the comfort of his bed, he's tired and energized at this experience and absolutely terrified that something that was supposed to be hard was so, so easy.

“Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself.”

“Lay off. You're the one who decided to give me a speech instead of feeding me.”

“Whatever. Cry me a river.”

Is this how it's supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel this good to talk to his mother, someone he's never had any real desire to talk to about shit like this?

He hopes it is. It's nice.

Huh.

When his mother turns around to hand him the bowl, dark eyes red and wet, she smiles. It's like looking at his reflection. Unnerving, though he finds that it isn't entirely unwelcome this time. “So.”

“So what?”

“Who is he?”

“Are you joking?”

“What? I want to know!”

“Oh my god.”

“I won't ever ask again. Promise.”

“Promise?”

“No.”

He groans.

“Just say it.”

“He's my-" Teammate. Captain. Friend. Boyfriend. “Shigeru.”

He leaves when he sees her smug smile, because at that point, the resemblance grates his nerves and demolishes his pride.

When he reaches the stairs, he's met with Shigeru hiding his face in his arms, though Kentarou is positive his face is the same shade of red as his own.

The cicadas are buzzing exceptionally loud this year. Maybe they’re arguing. Maybe they’re singing. Maybe they're talking.

Or maybe they're just saying I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the works with months of deliberation and I feel a bit obligated to explain what was up. So the entire Talk series was just venting and admitting that I hate talking about personal shit because it doesn't matter, even if it does on some deeper level.  
> Talking is hard, being around other people is hard, and admitting to being different is hard. And I needed to get it out. I never really mentioned anything personal and added some spicy drama that I pulled out of my ass, but it helped. A little.  
> But this one took a long time because I had to stop. It got too real.  
> Coming to terms with being a raging homo all by myself was a painfully difficult process. I don't hide my attraction to chicks, but I've never said the words out loud. I stil can't. I denied it by saying I'm bi because I couldn't admit to it, and I felt even shittier because I felt like I was living a lie. And it sucked. I almost bombed most of my midterms because I couldn't stop thinking about it and agonizing and hating myself for being such a pussy.  
> I had to stop. It was literally sucking the life out of me and I hid it behind shit posting and smiling and being a happy, hollow shell. But I've spent countless, sleepless nights over the past three weeks thinking about it, and I'm ready. Little steps at a time. Haven't talked about too much out loud yet, but this is my first step. These end notes right here.  
> I haven't said it out loud. I'm not ready and I don't know when I will be.  
> But it's fine. For now, this is enough.
> 
>  
> 
> tl;dr: im gay lmao


End file.
